


Briar Rose

by Octarine



Series: Grimm [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octarine/pseuds/Octarine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A princess with an unmatched beauty and elegance to go with a wit sharp as nails and a silver tongue even sharper. Like a rose, her beauty had a price.</p><p>And now you know at least half of the story is true. She looks more queen than princess, more goddess than mortal. She's a vision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Briar Rose

**Author's Note:**

> At first a voice cried out against the darkness, and the voice grew loud enough to stir black waters.  
> He was the will to live. Out of nothing he created himself, the light. The hand that parted the waters, uplifted the sun and stirred the air.  
> He was the first, the beginning. Then all else followed, like petals drifting into the pool.  
> And I can tell you that story.  
> \- Carol Thurston

You were expecting death to hang over this place, its presence foreboding, intimidating enough to turn so many determined and desperate away. But all that greets you is a wall engulfed with blooms of vermilion and leaves of jade and a heavy, heavy silence. The place of horrors that you have heard so much about, the tangle of briars that will eat men alive with a gaping maw of thorns and vines like the gnarled hands of beggars, grabbing greedily at all who pass. It appears beautiful instead but all is not well, there is still a sense of unease. As you rode up it was looming ahead of you, a wall of blood, the color that has made you a recluse, cut you off from the world, your entire life. You had grown uncertain because surely the old women spinning their yarns would have thought to mention this, a scarlet wall that keeps all out, blooms stained with the blood of the slain or some other nonsense. But you were not warned of the roses.

You were told that this kingdom was a dark place that reeked of death although all inside were cursed to live on, forever frozen in time, never to escape the mortal world to heaven or hell. But instead it is bright and alive, the smell of roses cloying and thick, just like the silence.

Your horse refuses to come any farther so you must slip from its back and continue on foot, hand finding the hilt of your sword, whether it be from instinct or simply second nature you do not know. You are no stranger to the supernatural; many have mistaken you for a demon yourself. You hold no magic beyond the blessings you’ve been gifted from the creatures you are not ignorant enough to condemn and have, instead, stood up for. And you can immediately feel that familiar stirring of power; it hangs in the air, mixed with the heavy silence and thick sweetness, electric and unmistakable. But this is different, this makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and your stomach roil in discomfort.

This is not the pure, clean, light of the forest spirits or the medicines of the witches, this is dark and you suddenly understand why all view this place as cursed. But you have dealt with curses, you have cleansed forests of their impurities, you have freed spirits from their chains, and you have saved lives from being swallowed up by darkness, and this, this is much darker than any other you have encountered.

You hesitate for a moment, free hand finding the chain that hangs from your neck, the little wooden cross, gifted to you by one very special girl with eyes that shined with the power she held within her, brilliant and warm, and a smile to match. The memories it holds are bittersweet. You can feel the tingle of that warmth battling with the cold curling around you, wrapping you up and refusing to release you. Perhaps you have found the one challenge you cannot overcome, like this wall before you, the one thing that is impossible to scale. You are not one to back down so easily but that does not make you a hero. You are not fueled by the urge to be righteous, you don’t want to be recognized as a warrior, you have no desire to be glorious. But you do feel it is your duty to be good, to help the people that would otherwise be alone and unsafe, because God knows you are surrounded by fools, ignorant, afraid, and greedy. And, truthfully, the real reason is that this is what your little witch would have wanted, what she would be doing if her heart continued to beat, but it gave out long ago.

You sigh, moving forward once more, trying to ignore the uneasy shuffling of your horse from behind, the constant reminder that you could easily turn back now, instead picturing brilliant green, a bright smile and a wrinkled nose. As you near, the flowers stir as if a breeze has disturbed their still, but the air does not brush along your cheek or through the trees. It makes your gloved fingers curl around the constant warmth of your sword’s hilt; it has been blessed too, the stones decorating the golden handle fuchsia ones granted to you for aiding a princess in a distant land, one of beauty and many exotic creatures. She was gifted with, in addition to her charm and grace, a touch that could bring life. The warmth is welcome with the icy fingers of dark magic continuing to pull at you hungrily.

The one woman who told you of this place, the one who, unknowingly, convinced you to come here, told you the tale of this land of greed. You had met her in a little town by the sea; she was out of place at the bar in her bright robes of orange, surrounded by rowdy men and sailors while she sat so quietly, hands folded on the counter. You had taken the spot by her side just to have another woman come up a moment later, a rough hand finding your shoulder and her face leering too close to your own. She stank of alcohol but her eyes were sharp and soon a knowing smile was spreading across her face. Sadly you recognized her, too. You were surprised and disappointed that you had not noticed her sooner, the cold power of hers, the opposite of her sister’s, one a blessing the other a curse. Meenah, the wild princess turned sailor, demanded to know how your brother was doing and then why you were here, in such a nice little town, free of magic. You answered her, very aware of the woman of light listening in by your side, and then Meenah, with a lopsided grin and another bottle from the bartender, bid you farewell as she was pulled into a dance by another girl, a dark hat with a feather on her head and a too-big jacket on her shoulders.

You realized that she could be related to the woman by your side, dark hair and bright blue eyes. She, Aranea, you soon learned, was odd; unlike most of the old hags you have spoken to she was not old and blind, both in the literal and metaphorical sense though the best prophets you know are, in fact she seemed quite young, perhaps no more than three years older than yourself, Meenah’s age. She did not tell you about how whoever could accomplish this quest would receive riches and women, she warned you that many had tried and many had failed and, if they did manage to enter, they certainly never came out again, but this was something that most had warned you of, what really surprised you was what she said next. “Even a man familiar with magic such as yourself, one who has been blessed by such a great woman,” she motioned to your neck, to the cross hanging there, her blue eyes locked with yours. “Will not be prepared for what they find there.”

That’s when you asked her for more, eating up her words like a starved man, and she was more than happy to tell you the story. A corrupted kingdom with no king and a queen who drank away her sorrows but a princess with an unmatched beauty and elegance to go with a wit sharp as nails and a silver tongue even sharper. Like a rose, her beauty had a price, thus she was named Briar Rose. The woman told you that the princess was cursed from birth, her death a destined act that would take place at the tender age of only sixteen, right as the girl would be blossoming, but she was also quick to explain that the princess had been blessed by another to ward off death but to trap her in sleep. She told you that the kingdom’s greed lived on though, as well as those inside, it has simply taken on another form.

You unsheathe your sword, the weapon flashing in the light. As you draw near the vines part, arms like a sea-creature’s winding out, inky black as if shadow has condensed into something solid, followed by another, and another, and another, and then eyes, shining like marbles, milky like the blind and flashing like an animal’s. Your mouth goes dry and your palms grow wet within their gloves. You don’t know what this is and you’re beginning to regret coming here, to this place of horrors.

*

You fall to your knees, the air not able to come fast enough, your sword falling to the ground beside you, stained with bubbling black that you can’t wipe off of your skin fast enough, leaving behind ivory skin flushed a painful red. You shed yourself of your belt and your shoes then tear off your shirt, all of them, their fabric being eaten up by the blood of the beast. You’re glad you had your gloves.

You allow yourself a moment to catch your breath and watch the thorns recoil from the poison, if they can.

But it has served to cut a hole through the plant, all of it shying away, pulling back, so that you may pass. The beast was unlike any monster you have faced, mermen with their claws and teeth like knives, demons with a serious obsession with actual knives, all of that was play compared to this. Your side aches, the skin there not only red but cut. You have been infected by this disease, the curse, forcing you to snatch up your pouch to pull out the medicines you have before they are eaten up, too, some from forest spirits, another from a holy man, well, unholy man, and one from the girl that took such good care of you. All of them in little vials or a leather bag, you abandon the latter, snatching up the one glass vial that glows a soft green and the other some sickly bright color.

You don’t really trust Gamzee, the crazy voodoo-man that has given you some pretty foolish advice in the past, so the green vile is stuck in your pocket incase you get really desperate and the bright, pumpkin, orange is poured onto your wound, making you grit your teeth to keep yourself from crying out.

It hurts worse than the time your brother accidently broke your arm, the time you were forced to face a ghost, once an ally, who had lost her soul, or even the time, to get to the temple of prophets, you were forced to face a dragon, all claws and teeth and white hide of steel, and then a monster, hands and feet that could crush you with ease and two heads with eyes that glowed red and blue. You’ve been lucky enough to have avoided any actual curses, partially thanks to your many allies who look out for you.

But now you are exhausted and although a tunnel is being burned through the final challenge, the last thing separating you from your goal, you still are wary to go on. You force yourself to your feet anyway, pink and bloody, wounded and limping, and head on, scooping up your sword so you may wipe it off on the plants that still surround you.

The jade leaves have shriveled and crumbled into black, the ruby roses have rotted to onyx, and the earth beneath your feet is dry and dead. You almost feel guilty, as if you have ruined this place instead of freeing it, but your task is not over yet and you soon realize that the poison has only gone so far and the plants ahead are still very fresh and alive. You consider going back, but really, you’ve just had the fight of your life, like hell you’re turning back now. So you set to work, hacking away.

*

You realize what it is just in time to stop yourself.

A person; wrapped up and mummified here in the roses. He’s still, as if he were asleep, but from his lips comes no breath and his eyes do not flutter like that of a man who dreams. It is unnerving to say the least.

So you move on, going around the man and any others you come across, very aware of the vines growing back behind you. Finally you reach a wall and must fight to find a door and then to tear it open. Once inside you are greeted by more, more figures knotted up in vines, hanging like marionettes, faces calm and bodies lax. The light from the windows high above making them glow and their shadows create grotesque images on the walls and in the tangles on the floor. You weave through them, studying every face for the little princess, forever captured in youth, but you are not certain of what she looks like and, really, if she’s here at all.

You find a set of what once was beautiful marble stairs but now is crumbling and, like everything else, covered in creeping plants. You make your way up them carefully, not wanting to trip. The smell of roses here is suffocating; the air is not only calm but also thick and old, the smell of a castle’s decay mixing with the flowers’ scent, a sickly contrast. Your side is throbbing in protest and your brow wet with sweat, you feel like you could collapse but you continue on, up into a tower until the vines have grown thin, twining around a doorway that stands open, golden light filtering out into your eyes. You creep forward, wary and struggling with fatigue.

The sight that greets you makes you take in a sharp breath. There she is, Briar Rose, and you know at least half of the story is true; she’s a vision. She’s a year or two younger than you, a tiny girl, lying out on a long stone table. And she really does look like a doll, skin perfect enough to be porcelain, lips red and lashes black. Her hair is spread out like a halo, golden in the fading light dancing across her skin and the silk of her dress. She’s tied down by the vines but they have delicately weaved themselves around her unlike the others, jade fingers gently framing her face, the red of their blooms striking against the white of her skin and the purple of her dress. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her little hands clasping ebony wands like a crook and flail and it strikes you that she looks more queen than princess, more goddess than mortal.

You stumble forward, a silvery noise ringing out when your sword meets the ground. You reach out to her, hand shaking, afraid to touch her, to break her. When your hand finds her own it is icy and then you trail your fingers along her cheek and over those perfect, perfect lips, down her throat, sloping so beautifully, and then against the smooth silk of her dress to find her heart is warm. She is alive though her throat doesn’t flutter with the beat of her heart and her hands are cold enough to be stone.

Your side is aching, your muscles throbbing in protest, and your stomach growling but all you can bring yourself to focus on is pressing your lips to hers, feeling that ice against your heat. You pull away, grounding your teeth and gripping her hand too tight, when your side throbs and your vision blurs. Seems like you may be just another fool to never escape the walls of this castle. But you’ll be the only one to be able to tuck himself around her to spend his final hours. You rest your head over her heart and close your eyes, trying to focus on her smell instead of the roses.

You almost don’t notice, you certainly don’t at first, the gentle thump of her heart as it comes to life. You pull away as soon as you do, watching with wide eyes as her-own flicker open, a shock of purple. You stare at each other for a moment but then she takes in a shuddering breath, the vines uncurling from her like a flower blooming, petals opening, so she may sit up just to lean over the side of the table, retching until thick bubbling black comes from her perfect lips. You gulp, hesitantly reaching out so you can try to brush back the wisps of blond hair and to run your hands up her back as it shudders.

Finally she stops, slumping against you, completely boneless, and you ignore the pain in your side in favor of wrapping your arms around her and pressing your face into that halo of blond. The pink is coming back to her skin, you notice, shaking hands uncurling her own so that the wands will fall. “Briar Rose, right?” You murmur and your voice is rough.

“’Briar’? How in heavens name was that added into the mix?” She demands but her voice is quivering too, though it’s soft and musical and so, so beautiful.

You breathe out a chuckle, stirring her hair. “You’re a thing of stories, darling, I was counting on parts being exaggerated, really, all of it exaggerated, completely blown out of proportion, but it seems that was not the case.”

“You defeated the beast.” She says suddenly, jolting in your arms.

“Yeah, must admit that was a pain in the ass.”

She snorts and you expect her to give you a hard time about being proper and aren’t surprised when she does. “Aren’t we the gentleman; seems princes aren’t the same as they used to be. On that note, what year is it?”

“There’s that silver tongue,” you chuckle and she shifts slightly in response. “If the tale is right… you’ve been asleep for a century, maybe two, it doesn’t matter, either way it’s a new world now.”

“Who are you?” She demands, finally withdrawing. “And knowing why…” Those pretty lips of hers, stained black, twist in distaste as she scans you over, growing softer when her eyes fall on your wound. “You’ve been cursed, why didn’t you say anything?” She slips off of the table; the wands gathered up before she’s turning on you, pressing you back.

“Whoa now, didn’t know ladies from way back when moved so fast. Guess I was born in the wrong time; could’ve gotten all of the ladies-“

“It seems you have a tendency to ramble too, how annoying.” She sighs, pushing you down and sneering at your application of medicine.

“Yeah, sorry your knight’s lacking some armor and has an issue with watching his mouth but I did just wake you up and slew your tentacle-beast, so a little appreciation would be great.” You sigh, hissing when she prods at the wound. “I’m a delicate flower, be gentle.”

“Don’t worry, _princess_ ,” she huffs and you drink up her voice, letting it quench your thirst and quiet your hunger. It’s sharp and sweet and you can’t get enough. You watch, enraptured by the sight of those delicate hands moving across your skin, letting her icy touch, not so different from the beast’s, sooth your muscle and your fever. “What is your name?” She repeats, fingers finding your cross, thumb running over the intricate designs that, you know for a fact, took forever to carve. You wonder if she can feel its power. Something tells you she can.

“Dave Strider, milady,” you answer, gathering up her hand so you may press a kiss to it. “At your service.” Your voice is strained and your smirk is forced but at least you went down swinging, at least you brought this creature back to the world of the living.

She rolls her eyes but there’s a sad little twist to her lips as she pulls her hand from your shaking grasp so she may hike up her dress, tearing off a strip of the fabric. “Open up,” she orders, voice still sharp but now it’s to hide concern, or maybe that’s just what you want to think.

“There’s other ways to get me to shut up, darling.” You reply, earning another weary look. You know the real point to this, though, so you comply, taking the cloth from her so you can wrap it up and place it between your teeth.

She’s immediately tearing off more and using it to carefully wipe away the hunks of orange, tutting softly. A childish curiosity makes you strain to look down at the wound and you regret giving into it. Veins of black are crawling under your skin and the cut is simply disgusting, dark and raw and painful. You hiss, eyes tearing from the skin being pulled apart by careful hands to instead rest on the girl’s face, her jaw set and brow furrowing as she works. Her eyes flit up to meet yours and she purses her lips. “Well, Mr. Strider, you’re in luck.”

“’ _Luck_ ’?” you growl but it comes out like a grunt more than anything, through gritted teeth and knotted fabric.

“Yes, luck,” she answers, purple eyes flashing with something close to amusement. “You see I am not strange to the dark arts.” She explains picking up her wands with such care it could be mistaken for hesitance.

You feel a little uneasy about this but you hardly have a choice here. You can only watch as her eyes flutter shut once more, jaw going lax and lips parting ever so slightly, still stained black, as she takes in a deep breath, forcing the tension from her shoulders as well. You’ve seen women of magic do their work plenty of times before and the familiarity of it makes you relax yourself.

Somehow it doesn’t surprise you that the little princess is involved in magic. You doubt anything will be able to faze you after battling a giant sea-beast on land, really.

She begins to murmur in a lost language, dark and primal, but her voice is still rich and beautiful, addictive. You watch as the room comes to life around you, the vines squirming away, withdrawing from the walls. The air is electric once more, the scent of flowers transforming into something deadly and old, rotted and toxic. You begin to sit up, your unease coming back with a vengeance. But before you can do anything, too weak and disoriented to stop her let alone dart away, she has struck with the precision and grace of a snake, the tip of her weapon pressed to your wound, sharp and painful, making you gasp, a low hiss escaping your lips, your vision blurring, world swooping, and finally going white, arching from the table as you are shocked. The darkness that follows is welcome.

*

Banging and voices rouse you from your sleep, the room now dark, lit by the moon, easier on your eyes, but the noise still making you groan and flinch, your muscles aching in protest of the sudden movement. You take in the room once more, head spinning and foggy as you sit up so it does not occur to you that you should be worried by Rose’s absence right away or the shaking door. Your side no longer feels as if the skin is being eaten away, which, in a way, you suppose it was, but still throbs. You have been wrapped up with more purple silk, your crimson blood staining it black. Your fingers feel along the wrappings on their own accord, mind going to the pretty girl.

When cool hands come to rest on your shoulders you cant help but jump slightly. “My knight,” she hums in your ear, voice even sweeter than you remembered.

“Milady,” you reply, just as softly and with just as much of an edge of derision. “What happened?”

“Hush, I need to know if you will continue to aid me.” She tells you and you note that her musical voice is quiet but fast.

“Your people, are you the one who brought this upon them?” You ask, eyes trained on the door.

Her hands squeeze gently. “I need you to help me Strider, so I am going to be frank. Sadly, the answer to your question is yes. It was prophesized that I would die on my sixteenth and I, trying to prevent it, sealed my fate.”

“I was told you were cursed to die but it was softened by a blessing.” You reply and she scoffs.

“No, when I was born darkness could be seen inside of me, both by the people and by darkness itself. I made a deal with the devil, you could say.” She continues, hands fluttering down to your arms. “I am not a pious girl, quite the opposite, and my people are not pleased with me. My mother was unable to ward them off and my magic will not be able to keep them away forever, either.”

“So how do you expect me to help? I feel like shit, I can’t fight off an entire kingdom.”

“Articulate, as usual,” she sighs. “I need you to aid me in my escape.”

“And how do we get out of a room with one exit?” You reply, slipping off of the table and taking your sword from her when it is offered.

“Why, David-“

“Just Dave, Briar.”

“There’s a perfectly good window right over here.” She finishes, your snark ignored, turning to the stone window, the fingers of vines still reaching in from the outside. “We will climb down.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble. “Are you crazy?”

“Desperation can make a girl a little mad, Strider.” She replies, moving to the window. “As well as being asleep for a century. Now, will you help me or should I leave you here? They’ll think I’ve used my witch craft to turn myself into a boy, you know.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the first thought that will cross their minds.” You reply but you’re already moving to follow. “I have a horse out beyond the castle walls, we can leave on it.”

“Good,” she replies, sounding a bit relieved. “Now…” she murmurs, peering out the window. “Will you go first or shall I?”

“I think you know the answer to that…” You reply, slipping your head out so you may look down with her.

It’s very dark out, the vines like snakes in the pale white light and the ground stretching out below unwelcoming, like a stormy sea of thorns. You must be some number of stories up; jumping would lead to your death, a very painful one, at that. You don’t know how you will climb down a building with your wound and her in that heavy dress, using vines with thorns. You pull back and she does too, raising a brow when you continue to look at her. “Yes?”

“Just thinking about how it would be easier without that gorgeous dress of yours on…”

She does not look amused. “Really, you’re my proverbial knight in shining armor?”

“Didn’t think my princess was going to be a snarky broad.”

“Yes, so sorry to disappoint.” She sighs, eyes flickering to the door. “But, really, as much as I would love to stay and chat, we must be going.”

“Ladies first,” you reply, motioning for her to go. “Unless you want to go ahead and…” You add looking her over.

“I will turn you into a frog,” she sighs and it is not the threat that makes you shut up but the animal that holds so many memories.

“Fine, fine…” You reply but there is something different in your voice, something weary and cold, that, though small and hard to catch, does not go unnoticed. Her brow furrows ever so slightly and you realize that, perhaps, you have finally found a woman that can see through your mask.

You throw a leg out the window and curse at both the pain in your side and the darkness so far bellow. “Be careful,” she barks harshly, tiny little hands grasping your arm when you sway, nausea and dizziness making you want to collapse once more. “You can’t do it…” She murmurs and you bat her hands away.

“Have a little faith,” you reply, prying her hands from your skin when she refuses to release you. “Just have to be careful and take my time.”

She finally releases you and you start to slide out before hesitating once more. “What’s wrong? Changing your mind?”

“One last thing, you know, just in case,” you tell her and she looks at you oddly when you smirk. The kiss is fast but it’s still enough to settle your desires, hand cupping a soft cheek and lips pressed to hers, chaste, really, but addictive nonetheless. She pulls away with a scoff. “I think I can die happy, now.” You decide and then begin down ignoring her little huffs and grumbles from above.

*

The ache in your muscles comes back easily and your breath is ragged, your hands bloody and stinging. From the little noises of distaste from above Rose is not fairing any better. You’re shivering, too, which doesn’t help. It’s windy out now and when you glance up there is a flurry of ruffling skirts.

“Wonder if I could get a peek of your-“

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be finishing that sentence.” She hisses, glaring down at you from over her shoulder with a scowl and flushed cheeks. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from embarrassment. You secretly hope it’s from the latter.

It’s quiet the rest of the way down, only broken by the occasional curse from you or dark mutterings from her. When you finally reach the ground you want to collapse but the earth is still covered in spikes and your hands are bloody from them already so instead you stay standing, reaching up to help the princess down, taking her delicate hand in your own.

“It’s freezing,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and burrowing down. “Please tell me you have something with your horse?”

“No, don’t think I do.” You reply. “I’ll have to warm you with the heat of my gorgeous, feverish, body.”

“Good grief,” she sighs but still huddles a little closer. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

That is a very good question. A thickly woven net surrounds you and you have no chance of getting out, like animals, you are trapped. “I came in on the other side of the castle…” you say moving along the wall until you realize that’s not going to work. “And I have no clue how to get back now.”

“Mr. Strider,” she sighs. “You’re forgetting who I am. Now step back, you look like a fool.”

“You’re forgetting who I am, Briar; you just hurt my feelings, I don’t think my delicate heart can handle your cruelty.” You deadpan, stepping back once more.

“My heart is a thing of ice and hate; I’m afraid to say I can’t bring myself to care.” She mumbles, pulling her wands from her waist where she tucked them between her sash and her dress.

“A dried up little raisin.”

“Black as night.”

You chuckle but quiet quickly as a wave of cold passes over you, Rose’s entire being radiating with darkness. It can’t be healthy, wielding so much power and, on top of that, evil. You aren’t sure you want to allow her to continue but you suppose it is a necessary evil if you really want to escape. But such things take their toll, you know such from experience, and you aren’t ready to loose another girl to magic.

The plants part for her and you follow behind quickly. “Rose.”

“Yes?”

“You need to stop using that.” You tell her and she turns on you, making you stop, grip on your sword still weak but growing stronger.

“If anyone knows that it is me,” she snaps, eyes narrowed and fingers curled tightly around her weapons, unlike your own. “You need to quickly learn to watch that mouth or we’ll be having a problem. Keep in mind that my power is the only reason you’re alive right now.”

“You need to keep in mind that it’s the only reason I’m in this mess.” You counter and she scowls, turning to continue on. “What, no response? I was expecting a retort from the princess with her silver tongue.”

“I can re-curse you with much more ease than curing you.”

You keep your mouth shut but, if anything, you are quickly learning how frustrating the evil princess is.

*

You can soon hear voices; growing louder the closer you come to the front of the kingdom. “Will they try to kill you?” You murmur and she nods sharply in response, silver hair bobbing with her. “Will they succeed?”

“I suppose that’s where you come in,” she replies, softly. “I need you to help me.”

“I can’t defend myself let alone you.” You say under your breath, and sadly it is true. The pain in your side is growing and she seems to be able to tell, scanning you over as you limp along. You sigh, pulling the vial from your pocket and she raises a brow.

“More primitive magic?”

That makes your steps falter. “Don’t you dare; you have no right to say anything about any of this, getting your entire kingdom cursed.” You snap and she rolls her eyes, looking away.

The green glows softly in the night and when you open it you are assaulted by the strong scent. You recoil with a scowl but still pull at your bandages so you may pour it upon your wound. You are shocked to say you immediately feel relieved, the spot going numb. “Okay, lets go…”

She peers down at the soft glow curiously but only for a moment, quickly continuing on. Around the corner is the soft, warm, glow of fire. You prod Rose back so you may take the spot before her, leaning in order to catch a glimpse of the boy standing guard. He’s tall and muscular; you’re pretty average when it comes to height and all wiry muscle, you definitely have no chance against him. But you notice how his eyes flick about nervously behind glasses when a wild dog howls in the distance, the way his oversized teeth abuse his lower lip, and his mess of dark hair that is the icing on the cake.

Perhaps Rose could scare him. You turn to tell her your plan just to find her sweeping past you, the sight of her making the boy jump, and you don’t blame him, she looks like a specter in the moonlight, dress tattered and skin glowing with an ethereal glow. But then that nervous look turns into all happiness and relief that makes your insides twist with your personal horror. He looks like your little witch, just a little.

“Rose!” He says, sweeping her off her feet and into a tight hug. She laughs, actually _laughs_ , and hugs him back. “I was so worried that they were actually going to kill you!” He cries, setting her down. “I’m so glad you’re out! But if they catch you-“

“John, really, you’re too loud.” She chides, but underneath there’s something sharp. “I will be leaving now, I doubt I will ever see you again, so this is our final goodbye.” That sharpness is long gone, soft and, dare you say, motherly instead. She pulls him down and your gut wrenches once more but she simply places a chaste kiss to his forehead that makes him grin but his cheeks still darken. “I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. And… tell my mother goodbye for me, if you will.” She adds, taking his hand in hers to give it a squeeze and him a rueful smile. “Thank you for everything.”

She’s gathered up into another backbreaking hug. “Bye Rose, good luck.” When he pulls away he’s still smiling brightly and his hand lingers in hers a little too long. “I’ll tell the Queen for you.”

“Thank you,” she repeats, drawing away. Her eyes flicker to you and for the first time it occurs to you that perhaps you should feel bad for not looking away and giving her a moment with this boy. “Dave, we must be going.”

You try to ignore the boy’s curious gaze but that’s thrown out the window, your eyes meeting his own. His brows furrow in response and his lips twitch down. You nod to him stiffly, looking away finally, long after you should have. You pass Rose who is standing with her back to the boy, shoulders slumped and eyes empty, and snatch up her hand for yourself, pulling her into the dark thicket.

She gives your hand a squeeze, walking a little faster so that she is closer to you, you think. After a moment she speaks, voice soft and, for the first time, hesitant. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“I need more than that,” she gripes.

“My… acquaintance was in town, hopefully she still is, and we will ask her to take us to her kingdom. She owns a ship, you see? And, well, she just so happens to be a bit dark, too.” You explain and she hums softly in response. “Her sister will be able to heal me once we get there.” You decide to add.

“Good,” she says finally. “Thank you… for your help… and slaying the beast. It is a very impressive feat.”

“It is quite a struggle to be this great…” you sigh and she chuckles, batting at your arm. You may smile a little yourself.

*

Finally, you arrive outside of the ruins of the wall to find your horse waiting for you at the edge of the forest. Rose breathes a sigh of relief but you stop her before she can continue. “What?” She demands when you catch her arm. You don’t reply, silently slipping the wands from her sash. They’re cold as ice and very, very dangerous. They make your stomach twist and side ache slightly. You’re eager to get rid of it. “Oh…” She says softly, taking them from you. She takes a deep breath before snapping them in half, releasing it all.

“That’s better,” you hum and watch as she throws them into the forest before heading towards the horse. You sneak up behind her, hands finding that tiny waist and using your last reserves of energy to lift her up so she squeaks.

“Such a gentleman,” she sighs, pulling herself up, onto the horse. But she sounds tired and maybe a little sad despite her sarcasm.

“Always,” you reply, following her up with a bit more difficulty.

She tucks herself against your back and it feels better than any medicine, her touch better than any other’s, even one bringing life. You grip the reins, pulling the horse away from the castle and into the safety that the forest provides, finally a darkness that is welcome. Your other hand finds the ones resting on your abdomen, twining your fingers with her own, pulling one up so you may press a kiss to it.

“You will continue to serve me?” She asks, voice firm once more but still questioning.

“Do I get another kiss?”

“Good grief, is this what I’m going to have to live with?”

“Afraid so princess,” you reply with a chuckle, giving her hand a squeeze. “Afraid so…”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something referencing both Grimm stories and random Egyptian stuff? This should surprise me but sadly it really doesn’t. Like. At all. I’m so predictable oh my gosh. It's becoming a serious problem rather fast. I need to think before I write. Dave would totally know Egyptian stuff. He's been everywhere. Hush.


End file.
